


Prisoner

by jhoono



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternia AU, Dad is a subordinate of the Condesce, Edgy, M/M, Other, POV Second Person, Super Edgy, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6946957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoono/pseuds/jhoono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're just as much of a prisoner as I am."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is unedited from when it was written in 2014 save for the word "lusus" being replaced with "custodian" for aesthetic purposes.

You have an esteemed job on the Condesce's warship. Prisoners, of course, would get culled on sight. But there needs to be someone who is able to interrogate enemies and stowaways for days on end in order to acquire valuable information before throwing them to the drones. And who could that person be but the infamous Custodian?

The name is ironic, because you typically do "take care" of them, though not in the assistive way most troll Lusii do. Nobody can squeeze more information out of a hostage than you can, and that's how you managed to get onto such a coveted ship for only the best of the best. The fact that you're at the point where you can converse with the Condesce without the fear of getting culled is a signifier of how accomplished you are.

However, there's one person, a hostage of sorts, who has been delegated to you for as long as you've been on this ship. Your orders for how to take care of the Helmsman are simple: Come twice a day with the food provided and feed him, because his own arms are restrained. He's never struggled, never tried to push you away though you're sure his psionics are the most advanced in the universe. Hell, he's never even spoken.

Before tonight. You step into the Helmsman's room, wincing as you slosh through the charged biofluid on the ground with clothes that protect you from the electricity coursing through it but do nothing to prevent you from feeling incredibly soggy. As you approach him, you hear a voice, little more than a whisper over the loud whirring noises of the Helmsblock.

"You're just as much of a prisoner as I am."


	2. Chapter 2

Her Imperious Condescension is a laid-back woman, you’ve learned. Though she is the one who decides what is and is not lawful in her ever-expanding Empire, the task of enforcement is pushed down lower and lower on the ladder of nobility as lazy highbloods shove work away from themselves in favor of the finer things, like lounging about and occasionally intimidating their lessers.

You are no such highblood, though you are also not the sort to scorn a lifestyle like that (aloud). Your continued existence, frankly, is a blessing, taking into consideration your species. Only because of your grandfather are you allowed your life, and only because of your own unfaltering faith are you allowed a space on this ship.

So you can’t help but wonder.

Just why did the Helmsman speak to _you?_

You were frozen in shock at the words. The Helmsman was not supposed to be able to speak. He was supposed to be atrophied and dead to this world, only capable of the bare functions required for survival and the continued utilization of his powers.

He looks perhaps a few sweeps younger than you, but you know better. No lowblood of such use would be thrown away, not even because of the forces of nature. You’ve glanced at the monitors. His last recalibration happened before you were born. His consistent expression has always been a comfort to you, an emotional rock of sorts. Unfailing.

_Why did he speak to you?_

When you looked up and saw the same slack expression, you were sure it had been an auditory illusion. You said nothing, setting your jaw and feeding the carcass spoonful by spoonful. That was all it was. A carcass.

And then you turned to leave, and you glanced at a monitor.

rerouting to:  
x=1003.4710.8831.1025 E  
y=2014.8471.0443.4133 N  
your just as much of a prisoner as i am  
z=4810.8492.5610.6122 X  
new ETA: 20:16:42

Now you’re in your respiteblock, ruminating. It can’t possibly have been a joke; no hacker you’ve ever heard of would bust into the flagship’s system just to send such an inane message. And no regular employee on the ship with access to the monitors would be unable to spell _you’re_.

Was it the Helmsman?

How could it be…?

No, no. You shake yourself of the thought, dipping your fingers into your tiny recuperacoon. Sopor slime could kill a human like yourself if you were to submerge yourself entirely, but you can’t get to sleep anymore without a little. You spread the slime over your forehead, lay back on your bed, and stare up at the ceiling until the slime drags you under.

You do not dream. You haven’t dreamed since you were a child, since you started using the slime to help you rest more easily. This isn’t because you feel guilt for the things you have done, but because you try to keep your work life and personal life separate. Dreaming of the people you’ve brutalized doesn’t exactly make for comfortable resting. It’s entirely different from guilt.

When you awaken, your eyelids are heavy and you can practically feel your human thinkpan sloshing in your skull as you get up and wash yourself off. In your schedule you eat first, and then the Helmsman eats. All you have to do is wait for your door to open, and you’re presented with two trays. You say nothing, not even offering a glance at the troll who hastily dismisses herself from your respiteblock.

As always, your meal tastes more like cardboard than it does grubloaf. You’re almost convinced that the soup made for the Helmsman has more seasoning in it than yours, but you’ve never had it in yourself to try. You don’t know what the battery for a fucking starship runs on, but there’s a high enough chance that it involves something toxic to humans that you don’t experiment with it. You give the soup one last longing whiff before you stand and make way to the Helm.

After you agonizingly feed the Helmsman, you do something a little… different. Moving to the monitor’s keyboard, you type in a command amidst the mass of other notifications.

calibrating ablution block doors  
notice: member 510 entering ablution unit 7  
notice: member 510 allowed entrance to ablution unit 7  
notice: member 224 entering ablution unit 7  
TELL ME IF YOU CAN UNDERSTAND ME.  
notice: member 224 allowed entrance to ablution unit 7

A few more lines go down the screen before you hear that same text-to-speech voice you’d heard the first time, and your eyes widen minutely at the screen.

i can understand everything

The bowl almost falls from where you’d haphazardly balanced it on a biocable, and you catch it, glancing back at the screen for a moment before shaking your head and turning towards the door.

You can’t do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> otp: member 510 and member 224's members

**Author's Note:**

> rarepair folks must have it rough if they have to handle THIS edgy bullshit. i'll actually write on it if some poor bastard asks it of me.


End file.
